I did this to her. Me and my cowardice, and my inability to just tell her the truth.
She deserves better. Deserves someone who doesn’t have contracts and secrets and a psychopathic client who demandsweekly reports on her vulnerabilities. Someone who can love her openly instead of sneaking around behind her brothers’ backs while simultaneously betraying her to her worst enemy.
The word “love” catches in my thoughts and refuses to let go.
Is that what this is?
The train to St. Petersburg comes back to me first. The way she laughed when she finally figured out my card tells. How she glowed when she talked about her mother’s pelmeni recipe. The comfortable silence between us that felt like coming home.
Then London. Her guilt over leaving her brothers. The way she lit up walking through that gallery, surrounded by art she could just enjoy instead of authenticate. How she shared pieces of herself she doesn’t show anyone else.
And that cold night by the Hermitage. Her hand reaching for mine first. How that simple touch meant more than any kiss or caress that came before it. How I wanted to freeze that moment and live in it forever.
Solnyshko. Little sun. The nickname surfaces from somewhere in my memory. Russian endearment. Something my uncle mentioned once, a term he picked up during his military days.
It fits Sasha perfectly. The way she lights up a room, even when she doesn’t realize it. The warmth she radiates despite growing up surrounded by cold violence. How she makes me want to be better just by existing.
I’ve been falling for her since the gallery attack. Maybe since the wedding. Definitely since she called me on my bullshit during that first car ride and didn’t back down when I tried to intimidate her.
And now, I have to choose.
Adrian or Sasha. The contract or my conscience. The money I need or the woman who’s become more important than any paycheck.
The terrifying truth is that I’ve already chosen.
I chose her when I started sabotaging my investigation, feeding Adrian false intelligence instead of real information. When I let myself imagine a future that included her instead of planning my exit strategy the moment the job was done.
I chose her. I didn’t even realize it until right now, sitting on the floor outside her bedroom like a goddamn teenager waiting for forgiveness he doesn’t deserve.
The question isn’t whether I’ll choose Sasha over Adrian.
The question is what I’m willing to do about it.
Adrian has leverage. The contract. The money I’ve already spent. Whatever surveillance network is tracking my movements. He’ll know if I back out now, and he’ll find another way to hurt her, or someone else to do his dirty work.
But if I stay in, I have access. Information about his plans. The ability to sabotage from the inside. The chance to turn his operation against him.
Maybe the way to protect Sasha isn’t to walk away from Adrian’s contract.
Maybe it’s to use it against him.
The thought settles into my mind like a key sliding into a lock. I can’t save her by running, but I might be able to save her by staying where I am and turning Adrian’s weapons back on him.
It’s dangerous. Probably stupid. Definitely the kind of plan that gets people killed.
But it’s also the only option I have. And I’ve never backed down from a fight. Especially not when someone I care about is the target.
I lean my head back against the wall and stare at the ceiling. Tomorrow, I’ll figure out the details. Tonight, I just need to be here. Close to her. Even if she won’t let me in.
“I’m sorry, Solnyshko,” I whisper to the closed door. “I will fix this. I promise.”
She doesn’t respond.
But I stay anyway.
15
Sasha
